


Alone and Unable

by DemensionalSixer



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: I don't write these characters often, M/M, More warnings inside, Other, Violence, Work In Progress, bill just does some awful stuff to ford, discontinued, i hope to update this at least a few more times, please let me know what you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemensionalSixer/pseuds/DemensionalSixer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small series of one shots regarding some events that happen to Ford at the hands of Bill Cipher. Takes place between when Bill revealed his plans to Ford, and when Ford is cast into the Portal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for vomiting below.

Sometimes he tried to think back to the exact moment in his life, the single mistake that turned everyting he did into the actions that brought him here now. But he could never decide - or rather, would never be satisfied with which one. 

_When Stanley broke your machine._

Ford gasped a little as he opened his eyes, his body cramped on one side, face pressed against the cool wooden floor. He pushed up, joints cracking as he sat himself up, slumping against the kitchen counter. He turned his head, blearily looking around as he fought to ease himself into a more comfortable position. 

_When you were born with six fingers on each hand._

Ford gasped, then grabbed the edge of the counter, and pulled himself up. His legs shook as he steadied himself. Last night had been rough, and he hadn't done much to take care of himself. There was still a sour sickly taste in his mouth, his tongue felt dry and thick. The refrigerator door was still open, he observed. "Goddamnit.." Ford hissed, and with surprising urgency, he took a few steps over and slammed it shut. 

_When you made a deal with a demon._

Ford steadied himself once again, taking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His body ached, head throbbing on one side. He needed to do something, anything... before he came back.  
"Bill.."  
Where was he, anyways? After last night...Ford thought for sure he would be waiting, eager to come in and tease him about last night. The remains of the ordeal were still scattered around the kitchen. Ford looked over the scraps of cold food left, and his stomach lurched at the thought. He passed his hand over his mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea. 

_"You havent eaten yet today have you smart guy! If there's anything I know, you humans love to eat! Here, let me help you!" Bill said, voice loud and clear inside his mind. The familliar sensation of posession washed over him before he could protest, and his body was hijacked so Bill could go about making him a meal. He - Bill - slapped together whatever his hands touched, and consumed it gleefully on Fords behalf. He ate, and ate, and made more, and ate, until Fords body couldn't take it anymore. At last when Bill let him have controll, it was all Ford could do to make it to the sink as his cramping stomach rejected everyting Bill forced inside of him. His body spasmed as he retched into the sink, the smell hitting him in a warm cloud. Ford barely managed to keep himself standing._

"It's okay...it's okay." Ford muttered to himself, breaking his thoughts away from those unpleasant moments. 

Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. A glance in the mirror showed his shadowed face, blood shot eyes and stained clothes. He wrenched his eyes away with a disgusted growl, and hastily tore his clothes off, getting water going in the shower.  
He washed himself clean, scrubbing at his skin, (Careful around those cuts stanford) until he felt he was clean enough.  
He changed clothes, and threw the dirty ones into the growing laundry pile, adjusting his tan jacket over his shoulders. By now the silence in the house, the clear absense of the lurking madness Ford once called a friend, was weighing on his nerves. Where was he? Something would have to happen soon. (Please god no, just let him be gone.)

When he walked into the kitchen again, Ford looked around at the mess, shoulders slumped. Eventually he put one foot infront of the other, and quietly started to clean up. He trashed the scraps, trashed everyting that had been in the fridge, cleaned the counters, took the trash bags out, throwing them down.  
Walking back inside, he had just stepped into the livingroom when he felt-felt him.  
"Bill..." Ford said, a shudder running through him. He was tired, too tired to muster up the energy to be furious, or shout, or scream, or curse his name. 

Ford gasped as his body went rigid, eyes glazing over with a sickly yellow sheen, mouth stretching into a grin. "Hiya sixer!" Bill laughed, guesturing wildly in Fords body. "Man, we sure had fun last night, huh!?" He exhaled a breath, closing Fords eyes, listening to the author shout inside his head.

_"Bill, goddamnit! Let me go!"_

"Sorry! No can do Fordsy!" Bill replied, waggling a finger. He hummed as he walked into the kitchen again, brushing his fingers over the clean countertop.  
Ford, inside, was pressed back into the confines of his mind, worry and fear starting to bubble inside of him.  
Then, Bills controll slipped, and Ford stumbled as he regained his footing, free for a split second before Bill swooped in again, laughing as he straightened up. He liked doing it, liked giving him moments of controll, just to take it away. 

_"Bill!"_ Ford yelled, tearing at his hair, feeling his body shaking now. What was he going to do, why was he doing this?  
"You sure did a good job cleaning up. Looks like it never happened!" Bill observed. He leaned against the counter, fingers drumming against the wood, holding out a hand infront of himself, inspecting it. "You really have to take better care of yourself. I can't possibly run my apocalypse any time soon if you starve beforehand." 

Bill smiled wider as he felt and heard Ford groan in annoyance and pain. He could feel how tired the sixfingered nerd was, his entire body ached in a delicious way that Bill had come to enjoy.  
_"You did nothing to help me, Bill."_ Ford said inwardly. _"Please just let me have control. I have to..I have to.. go into town."_ Ford said, trying to find some excuse. Yes, he would have to go into town. He had to get more food, now that whatever he had was all spoiled. Most importantly he wanted to get away from Bill.

"Ohhh, I'm sure! I guess I can let you go for now. You'll be back eventually! All those people in town sure wouldn't want a freak like you hanging around them for too long!"

Ford was suddenly stumbling forward, catching himself on the table, panting as he felt the last of Bills presence leave him. He clenched his fists, banging them hard on the table, making it rattle. He was so tired, so frustrated at his own helplessness. Damn him! _Damn Bill!_  
He bit his lip, holding back a scream, body shaking as he tried to control his anger. He couldn't waste the energy, couldn't afford to be exhausted. He had to...had to stay alive long enough to put a stop to this. 

Slowly, Ford stood up, and he made his way to the front door of his house, pulling on his boots. He didn't feel ready to go out, to see pepople, to do anything. But he had to. He had to keep going. He had to do something. 

The door closed behind him easily, and Ford turned his back, walking away from a house he never wanted to come back to, but knew he would.


	2. Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, and suicidal thoughts.

A cold wind blew through the house. There was a swish and scrape of straw and glass as Ford swept the floor, trying not to think of all the work he still had to do.  
Every window in the house was broken. And now Ford was cleaning it up. 

_"Feeling a little warm sixer? I'll cool you off!"_ His arm twinged at the thought, wrapped in gauze after Bill inflicted a rather nasty burn- _Ford saw what Bill was going to do as soon as he turned the burners on, and it was all he could do to steel himself as Bill pressed his arm down over the hot metal, flesh seared and hair burned and he screamed oh god, stop! stop-_

The bottom of his feet ached as he bent, sweeping the broken glass into the dust pan.  
He tried to think about what had occurred, and nothing about it made sense. The things Bill did, the way he did it, there was no reason for it. Bill did whatever he wanted and when, and nothing Ford tried ever worked to end whatever Bill had planned. He was alone, and had to be. There was no one he could trust, no one he could call for help. 

After burning his arm, he had walked his body around the house, smashing the windows with gleeful abandon, his arm bled freely, tracking blood throughout his ruined house. The house was cold now, and he shivered, moving the glass to the trash.  
Around him the wood creaked. The walls groaned and Ford tilted his head, eyes wide as he swore he heard something in the noise. Almost a spoken word. He brushed it away as his imagination.  
A breeze rustled papers, sending a few to the floor. Ford paid them no mind as he continued to clean. The glass was more important. 

When it was all swept up, and most of the bloodstains scrubbed away(like nothing ever happened. One step at a time. He's not here right now, just take care of yourself until)  
Until _he_ comes back. 

_I'm so fucking stupid._ Ford thought bitterly. His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, body ridgid as tears burned underneath his eyelids. _He played me for a fool! I was so smitted, so caught up in his stupid spell!_

"Shut up, shut up, don't cry..." He sucked in a breath, then another, shoulders heaving with the effort. Focus on the task, focus...  
With some effort, and a little time, Ford carefully patched up the windows, using tape and cardboard until he could get glass to fix them. He would have to do it himself, teach himself how. He couldnt actually bring anyone here-

There was a knock on the door. Ford dropped the tape he was holding. It bounced and rolled away. He held his breath, silent, trying to wait it out. _Go away. Please go away. Go awaygoawaygoaway-_

Another knock, persistant. Stanford slowly walked down the hall, and into the parlor, approaching the front door. He opened it. "Hello-ah!"  
A knife was thrust past his face, and Ford backpedaled, arms windmilling as he tried to keep balance. The man in front of him grinned, brown haired and yellow eyes( _Those eyes, oh god!_ )blazing.

"Bill!" Ford yelled, stepping back as Bill moved, thrusting the knife again. "Better watch it Ford! This might hurt a little!" Ford turned, grabbing for something-anything he could use to defend himself. _What happened, how, how is he doing this, why, why, why?!_  
Ford thought frantically, grabbing for an umbrella sitting in the stand.  
"Stop! Bill, who is that?!" Ford yelled, swiping at the possessed man with the umbrella, causing Bill to laugh. "Oh, someone I picked up in town! You looked lonely, thought maybe you could use the company! Since you obviously don't want mine!" He said, lunging to the left, feeling hot blood spray on his hand as he slashed through Fords jacket sleeve. Ford swore, and fell, back hitting the wall, umbrella dropping from his hands. 

His ass hit the floor, and it was all he could to to scramble out of the way as Bills foot flew to his face. Ducking down, Ford sprung, and tackled Bill to the floor, wrestling his arms for the knife. "Let him go! H-He has nothing to-to do with this!"  
Bill grabbed a fistfull of brown hair, yanking Fords head down, sinking his teeth into his neck. Ford yelled at the pain flaring in his skin, pulling, hitting, and Bill shoved him off, getting back to his feet, lips stained with Stanfords blood. "Boy you sure can hit hard with those fleshy limbs of yours!"  
Ford pushed up, hand to his neck. The skin was broken, but he hadn't torn anything. "Please Bill, goddamnit! Release him! I-I don't understand..." His voice trembled, and Bill took it as a sign to throw himself forward, catching Stanford around the waist, knocking his former friend through the doorway. The two of them hit the ground again, Fords fist hit his jaw, knocking spit and blood into the air. _The knife, the knife!_  
He saw it raised, jerking his head to the side as Bill brought it down, digging it into the wood by his head. With a lurch, Ford bucked his hips, and managed to push Bill over to the side-the knife caught in the wood, tearing from Bills grasp as he rolled. 

"This is your fault Stanford!" Bill jeered, gasping as Fords fist smashed into his nose, crunching loudly. He could feel the force and anger behind the hit. "You did this to him!"  
Ford hit again, one fist raised, striking at the yellow eyes, blood roaring through his ears.  
"Hahah! Ha-!" _Punch!_ Bill choked on his own blood, a couple teeth fell to the floor. Bill kept laughing, and as Stanford pulled his hand back to hit him again, he stuck in return, hitting the underside of his chin, pushing him off. Bill shoved him back, wrapping his arms tight around Fords neck, sqeezing for all this fleshy human body was worth. 

Fords legs thrashed, back arched, hands trying desperatly to pull off Bills, so he could breath, scream anything!  
"B-Bi-Bill!" He choked, tears in his eyes. Something brushed his hand, and he grabbed it without a second thought, wrenching the knife from the wood. He turned it in his hand and swung it around, feeling it pierce cloth and flesh, right into Bills side. The grip tightened furthur, Bill laughed, almost screaming with whatever sick twisted joy he felt. Ford jerked the kife out, and stabbed again, and again, and again, until he felt the hands loosening, and saw the yellow fading from the eyes.  
At last the body slumped, and became heavy, still. 

Stanford let out a sob, dropping the knife, bringing his hands to his face, gulping in deep breaths of fresh air. His body wracked and shuddered. Ford inhaled, and let it all out in a terrified and painful cry. Why this, why this, oh god. He wanted to die, he...

Slowly, so slowly, he touched the body on top of him. _Look what your freak hands did. You killed him you son of a bitch. It was Your Fault!_

Ford shoved it off, sitting up, looking with horror at the gaping stab wounds, the blood leaking on the ground. He looked down at himself, blood spotted all over, his face was wet with it, glasses smeared, dying his vision red. Carefully he took them off, and wiped away the blood on the cleanest part of his shirt. Putting them back on, Ford managed to stand, legs trembling.  
He leaned against the wall, feeling his body throbbing with pain. his arm was bleeding, dripping. He stared at the body, wondering who it had been, where he had come from. 

"I'm sorry..." Ford said. The words were out, but they no longer had meaning. The man didn't care. He was dead. 

"I'm sorry..." 

 

\----

Ford spent two days getting rid of the body. Bill, thankfully, made no appearences. Stanford wasn't sure what he would do if he had.  
When it was done, the parts _-Drain the blood, sever the limbs remove the teeth!-_ cut and scattered and unfindable, Ford found himself sitting inside his home. He was numb, and cold, and his head felt heavy. His thoughts were oozing and creeping, rolling through his mind in a sluggish and painful fasion. He reflected on every moment, every slight over the last two days. How much longer could he keep doing this?

How much longer would he have to keep fighting. 

How long until this was over?

The wind howled outside, but gave no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
